Flying High on Love
by General Button
Summary: Just a place to put all my shameless, mostly PWP Cabin Pressure prompts. Douglas/Martin always, unless the mood strikes one day. Beware: they will most likely be unedited and barely proofread.
1. Tickling Kink

**Rated:** M

**Original prompt**: Martin loves to be tickled to the point where he's breathless, giddy and so, so hard. It's not something he's been able to explore much but he knows it's weird that it has that effect on him. I'd love it if Douglas discovered his kink by accident and finds himself turned on too.

* * *

"D-Don't." Martin slowly stepped back against the walls of the cabin. Douglas merely grinned, fingers making ripple motions in the air, threatening Martin.

"I'm serious! Do not touch me," he yelled, his voice failing as those hands came closer. Martin knew what would happen - damn it, he knew! - and yet he couldn't move as Douglas came closer, hands mere inches from his waist. Waiting for the inevitable, Martin closed his eyes.

Then promptly burst into shrill laughter, the muscles of his stomach fluttering with the sudden tickling sensations.

Martin tried to twist his body away from Douglas' hands, but he had him pinned to the wall, mercilessly gripping his sides and wiggling his fingers. Somehow the act seemed obscene and dramatic. Martin already felt the fateful stirrings curling inside his stomach.

"D-Douglas, s-s-stop!" he giggled, fingers curling around his chin as he twisted and shook in vain. He slid to the floor and brought his knees inward, but the tickling didn't stop. Tears collected at the edges of Martin's eyes as he laughed, sides aching (as well as elsewhere).

In reality, the captain would like nothing better (shamefully) than to let Douglas tickle him into submission, but if he found out here of all places (and at all) he would be in deep trouble. So he twisted his body, resisting kicking him in the stomach or smacking him with his arms.

Douglas moved to Martin's armpits, terribly amused by the whole affair. Martin was laughing and giggling, lips stretched in a rare grin and face flushed with life. Tears practically dripped from his eyes. He'd never seen the pilot looking this way, and wouldn't mind doing it some more. Martin sure did know how to squirm though.

Martin crossed his knees in vain to hide the growing erection as his breath came out shorter and with less beats between each one, laughs cut off as he choked on the air. "Dou-" he tried, but couldn't seem to get anything out as he concentrated on breathing. Adrenaline rushed through him, his limbs surging with both life an exhaustion. He was becoming harder harder, erection pressing tightly against his trousers.

God, why did this feel so good? He was out of breath and Douglas had slowed mercifully, hands resting lightly on Martin's hips. The captain coughed and his chest heaved with every breath, minute shudders running through him.

He was incredibly, achingly hard now. Each labored breath went straight to his cock, throbbing and pulsing under his trousers. "Get off," he breathed shakily to Douglas, the furious flush never leaving his cheeks. He looked absolutely wrecked and debauched, a beautiful look for him, Douglas decided.

When they'd both calmed, and Martin attempted to speak, Douglas grinned and squeezed his sides, eliciting a squeak. Martin's legs flew open in reaction, revealing his erect member.

Douglas froze in shock.

Martin froze in horror, the color draining from his face.

"Douglas. It's - it's not what it looks like! I'm - uh - for God's sake," he hissed, putting his hands over his eyes. He was mortified! Shamed! Everything was going to fall apart now!

Douglas said nothing for quite some time, and Martin was forced to look at the man, finally, eyes stinging with shameful tears. "D-Douglas? I'm really sorry —" he started, but stopped when he saw Douglas' gaze. It was intense, and awfully predatory. Perhaps even more so than before the tickling had begun.

"Martin, I had no idea," he all but purred, one hand resting over Martin's stomach. Quick breaths made it push insistently against his fingers, and Martin flushed; his erection was straining, as if trying to reach Douglas' hand.

"Douglas, I had no idea," he snapped breathlessly back at him, mind spinning from the high of laughter. That he was found out was embarrassing and mortifying, but in a way also exciting. Douglas didn't...seem to mind if his expression said anything.

"Neither did I." He honestly sounded confused, and Martin quirked his head in confusion until he saw the impressive prick pushing against Douglas' own uniform. Wait, what?

His stomach plummeted and curled pleasantly. Did this mean he didn't have to have a reason to be ashamed? Or even afraid?

They lay frozen in time, neither of them breathing (well, metaphorically. Martin was still panting), until Douglas suddenly took hold of him and pressed the taller man into his lap, back-to-chest. Martin shivered when he felt Douglas' erection press into him, and his breath caught when a hand went down his trousers and pants.

Oh, but it got better. Just as he pushed into the delightfully warm hand, pleasure rolling inside him, Douglas' free hand latched onto his waist and lightly squeezed.

Laughter pealed from the pilot and he squirmed as the stimulation was doubled. Quickly breathing became more and more difficult, his cock becoming harder and harder. Pleasure shot up his spine and he shuddered and spread his legs, muscles twitching with the effort to hold still as he giggled.

Tears leaked from his eyes, running down his cheeks, but he didn't care. Oh, not when it felt this good. Not when Douglas' hand was running up and down his slickened length, fingers as agile as the ones against his side. His laughter bubbled and melted into half-laughs-half-moans, spilling frequently from Martin's lips.

Douglas bit his lips and slowed. Martin was being awfully loud, and who knew when someone might come in, wondering about all the ruckus? So he tilted Martin's head back and pulled him into a kiss, lips overlapping with the force. Douglas took a moment to run his tongue gently over Martin's lower lip, then he bit it.

Martin moaned and shuddered, pistoning his hips into the ring of his fingers.

"Quiet, dear," he teased, pinching his side none-too-gently. Martin giggle/moaned, breath mixing with the elder pilot's.

"S-sorry," he apologized, eyes glazed and cheeks aflame. He looked happy, rueful, and terribly turned on. Quite a nice look for him. Douglas kissed each cheek in turn and then pressed his nose against Martin's.

"Quite alright. I'll just have to keep you quiet." And with that, he spun Martin around so they were chest to chest, the red-head's legs spread around his waist, cocks pressed together. Douglas ground into him, an agile hand running up his waist, and Martin sucked in his breath, rising to roll his hips. Douglas curled one hand to the back of his captain's head, pulling him into a rough kiss once more. His tongue rolling sensuously over Martin's, caressing the underside and flicking it gently, stealing each hot moan that left his lips.

They groaned together (and Martin shook with mirth) as their hips met, hot sparks making Martin's vision fade. He could barely breath, his stomach hurt, everything was a laugh, and it couldn't be any more wonderful. A happy moan was inhaled by Douglas and his hand again delved into Martin's trousers, taking his prick into his hand.

He jerked him roughly, precome making it slick and easy. Martin shuddered and bucked wildly, so, so hard and so, so close to coming. "Douglas," he whined into his lips, shaking like a leaf as his mouth was virtually fucked with his tongue and his lower half was stimulated by a warm hand and slick fingers.

Douglas smirked and trailed his hand over Martin's arse before he pulled his shirt out and shoved his hand under the fabric. In moments he squeezed his arse firmly, then ran his fingers gently over the tense muscle.

Martin bucked and thrashed, rubbing shamelessly against Douglas. Yes, that was it! As a mad, breathless giggle left his lips, every muscle in his body tensed, and then went lax as his orgasm burst through him.

Martin leaned heavily onto his co-pilot, fingers curled over his shoulders as he caught his breath. Wow! "Th-thank you, I think," he breathed, and he proceeded to rub his nose gently into Douglas' neck. The wetness against his stomach was uncomfortable, but not unbearable. He just...needed a moment.

He felt a twitch against his thigh. "Oh, Douglas, I'm sorry!" he stammered, cheeks flushing. He'd completely forgotten about him!

"No need to worry. It's about time to take off, but I believe if we hurry we can have you cleaned up in the bathroom along with some...recreational therapy."


	2. Voice Kink

**Rated**: M

**OP**: Martin develops a thing for Douglas' voice. Douglas has a bit of fun with this until he realizes he quite likes seeing Martin all flushed and trembling. Unestablished relationship. Mostly what I want is Douglas talking Martin to orgasm.

* * *

Martin had always found he paid a special bit of attention to the tone people's voices emitted. He liked to discover who had a pleasant tenor, or a deep baritone that sent his mind and body rattling. Even the high pitch of soprano was a unique, rich sound that pleased Martin's ears.

From a distance, anyhow.

Sometimes Martin would simply listen to people talk on the radio, and peek down at the kids under his attic, listening in on their laughter and inside jokes. He'd always been fascinated by the human voice.

It only became a problem when Douglas came on board.

He'd tried to ignore it, and had done a fair job at that. So far, if he didn't focus too hard on the deep, rich quality of the man's voice, he found talking to him not terribly painful.

There was just something about Douglas. Something that struck a deep chord inside the red-headed pilot that left him aching for more. When he'd catch himself listening intently when Douglas was on the phone, or staring at him more than was necessary, he had to give himself a good metaphorical slap on the wrist.

Martin just needed to be careful.

-

Today they were flying from London to Berlin, and Martin was quite fancying a nice trip. He'd been cooped up in his attic and his job for far too long. He needed to release this - this tension and fly!

Already seated in the cabin when Douglas came in, he smiled and greeted the taller male with as much enthusiasm as he could muster for the early morning.

"Hello, Martin," he greeted, slapping a thick book onto his knee. At his captain's curious gaze his lips curled into a smirk and he held up a book displaying a beautiful woman with a man wrapped around her. "This, Martin," he addressed slowly, flashing the front cover "is a book. You are aware how luxurious the tone of my voice is, of course?"

Martin focused rigidly on the cover in front of him, but none of the words made any sense when Douglas was speaking. "Uh, yes?" he answered, trying hard not to squeak. Douglas was joking, just joking. Or maybe not. He wasn't quite sure.

"Well." he raised an eyebrow at the obvious discomfort on Martin's face (as he always did when they spoke together. What WAS wrong with him?) "It seems that thanks to our lovely commercialization of MJN air has attracted those people who search for the most delightful voice actors to make audio recordings of books for...people who can't read, I suppose," Douglas smirked, opening the book up at a random point.

"Seems people have finally found an appreciation for my talents," he said absently, placing his finger on a random spot.

Martin gripped the edges of his chair, trying not to shiver as Douglas's deep tenor cut right through his skin. Oh dear God. He wasn't going to read, was he?

"...his fingers caressed her skin. Lips pressed against lips and they kissed, all the while Lewis's fingers roamed her body. Hands slid over his shoulders, her waist, dipping lower and lower...You came at a good part, Martin. Lucky you."

Martin was frozen as Douglas' voice took an even deeper tone, a dramatic amount of emotion being put into the pseudo-reading. Trying or not, the sensuous words, coupled with Douglas' irresistible voice made his cheeks burn and the room heat up. Martin didn't dare breath as Douglas continued, barely aware that his shoulders were squared and his jaw clenched.

"'Shall I undress you?' Lewis purred, voice the very devil itself, leading the maiden into temptation."

Douglas took on a sultry tone, his voice a graveled, rich rumble that went straight to Martin's cock. He discreetly shifted his chair away from Douglas, breath coming out in soft gasps as he tried in vain to hold it. His face was even more flushed, freckles standing out against the angry reddening skin. Martin's hands were shaking, by God. If he didn't leave here soon, something horrible might happen and he would be the butt of all of Douglas' jokes for — for forever!

"I — I think I get it Douglas," the captain ground out, sounding so much more desperate to his own ears. He shouldn't have even spoken.

His co-pilot gave him an odd look, turning away from his book to face the red-faced, rigid Martin. "Are you quite alright?" Now he was speaking directly to Martin, and his voice still held remnants of his earlier tone. Oh, what he wouldn't give to have that voice saying unspeakable things to —

Martin sucked in his breath, and let it out slowly. "No. No, no, no. Nothing's wrong," he all but snapped, veins on his neck standing out. A slow smile spread across Douglas' face and he looked back at the book.

"Martin, are you getting aroused by this erotic writing?" He sounded far too smug for his own good, and Martin swallowed.

"Good heavens, no," he hissed, blush deepening.

"Your case isn't very strong. After all, look at you," he purred, and Martin squirmed, breath coming out far too quick for his own liking. "Or perhaps it's just my voice. Too stimulating, is it?" he joked.

Martin trembled in his seat, neck flushing beautifully at that. He had no answer, lest he outright moan or say something to embarrass himself further.

"By God, it is my voice, isn't it?" he sounded shocked, pleased even.

"Shut up! No, it isn't," Martin denied, but the shudder that ran through him didn't help much.

Douglas' grin was amused. "Shall I speak to you slowly? Or perhaps softly? I will caress you, speak sweet nothings into your ears until you're begging for me to make stop, to end it." Purposefully Douglas deepened and enriched his voice, each word rolling off his tongue and driving straight to Martin's clothed prick.

"D-Douglas," he protested weakly, breath becoming more labored. His voice was so deep. It went so deep. It curled around Martin's own body and pushed inside him, so rich and so delightful to listen to. His ears could bleed and he wouldn't care. Douglas' voice went so, so deep.

A soft moan escaped before he could help it, and a dust of red touched Douglas ' cheeks, but he continued. It was getting into dangerous territory here, and perhaps he should quit while he was ahead, but he rather liked seeing Martin like this, all flushed and prettied just for him. "Are you feeling it now? I'm touching you, Martin."

For a moment the pilot captain thought he was touching him, and he crossed his arms over his chest, trying to ignore that devilish vocalization. His name – oh the way he said his name!

"I'm running my hands over your shoulders, your chest. My fingers are running gently over your cheeks. You're shuddering softly now. Trembling for my touch, my tone." Martin was indeed trembling, his cock now fully erect with every word slicing right through him. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I put my finger to your lips. No speaking. My hand caresses your face, your cheek, and then moves to your neck. What would you like me to do, Martin?"

How could he ask that? Martin couldn't move, let alone speak. The front of his trousers were becoming wet; he was leaking from prolonged exposure to his velvet vocals. "I — I don't," he started, having no idea what he wanted. He was caught between making him stop, or groaning for him to continue. Oh, the things he could do and say and Martin was an absolute wreck.

"I can see you're excited." How could he sound so calm? "You're straining against the seams of your trousers. You want my touch. You want my fingers to wrap around your cock and pull."

Martin moaned pathetically and tipped his head back, muscles in his thighs tense. The front of his trousers were now so wet. He was soaking the front of them, precome dripping and slipping out of him, so much of it that he felt like a girl.

"You're feeling it. Shall I kiss you?" Martin mewled. "Or would you like your lips somewhere else?" Martin flushed beautifully and trembled harder than ever, one hand snapping to his groin to press firmly against his enclosed member. It was so wet, and so, so hard. Douglas' voice spread warmth throughout his whole body, tingles making the hairs rise upon his arms and the back of his neck.

"Douglas, please," he panted, breath horribly loud and voice horrible inadequate to his own ears.

"Martin, tell me what you want," he all but purred. Martin bit his lip. He was so wet, and so warm, twitching and throbbing against his own with each breath. He was demolished by his voice, completely wrecked. God, he had no idea what he wanted. He just needed Douglas' voice, for him to finish it.

"Can't? Then I'll tell you. I move to your ear and breath into it, softly. I whisper to you that I want your pretty mouth stretched around my cock. I want you to take it deep, and take it whilst you touch yourself."

Martin licked his lips over and over, throat parched, hand rubbing his own erection without realizing it. "Douglas," he breathed, eyes closed tight.

"Yes, you can feel it, can't you? They twitch and tremble as I press my hot, heavy cock to your lips while your own hand moves over your own swiftly. I push inside and you moan." Martin echoed his illustration. "Faster and harder, you take me deeper and you becoming more wet, futher aroused."

Martin was indeed wet. His trousers were soaked beyond repair. It was an embarrassing fact that he leaked a considerable amount every time. He also wasn't going to last much longer. How embarrassing, to come from just his voice, but — oh, what a voice!

"You begin to choke, so I let you rest your tongue against the tip while we wait for you to catch your breath. You can't stop your hand, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. I could decide to make you wait. I could make you remove your hand, stay aching for as long as I want." Douglas was flushed, out of breath, but his words never faltered.

Martin moaned pathetically, hips pushing desperately into his own hand. "D-Douglas, please."

"But I'm in a merciful mood." His voice was impossibly deep and rough. "You can come, Martin."

"Oh, Douglas," he choked, and with those rich words Martin lifted his hips, arched, trembling with each pulse of his powerful orgasm. He was breathing hard, as if he'd run a marathon, chest rising and falling rapidly. He didn't dare look at Douglas, at the smug look that would be on his face. He focused on the pleasure and, soon, the discomfort from his middle being so wet.

With a comical suddenness the door slammed open and Author waltzed in. "Hey guys! Skip, Douglas. Skip, are you alright?" Martin's face blew up in flames, and Douglas tutted.

"Martin's had a bit of an accident. We're going to the bathroom to clean it up. Come along, Martin," he soothed. A small shudder made its way through Martin's body and he somehow stood, facing away from Author and nodding.

"R-Right away," he coughed. "Carry on Author."

Douglas smirked and gently led Martin by the arm into the hall.

"Shall we act out that scene?" He said when they were out of earshot. He felt Martin shiver and flush, then minutely nod.


	3. Neck Kink

**Rated**: M

**OP**: Martin loves having the back or front of his neck being kissed, licked, nibbled or even just blown on; it drives him crazy.

* * *

Sex between the two of them was always enjoyable.

It was always easy, always fun, and sometimes - if they felt in the mood - just a little rough. Douglas liked to run his hands up and down Martin's sides, squeeze the thin skin there and leave bruises as he pushed inside him.

Martin enjoyed it, too, but he would never outright show enthusiasm. He was always reluctant, at first, but then Douglas would hit him just right, and he'd be putty in his capable hands.

The only thing Martin never actually let him do was lick, bite, or nibble on his neck. It was always stretched out before him, adam's apple bobbing with each breath, madly teasing him. The one time he'd licked it gently, nibbling just the tiniest bit, Martin had snapped his body away and blushed furiously and telling him he didn't want marks on his neck.

Ha. Douglas could easily lick and suck without leaving behind a single love bite, but he adhered to his love's wishes. This time was no different. Well, until that damn pale, long, beautiful neck was stretched out constantly, just begging him to take it between his lips.

Giving them a good once over, he decided Martin deserved a little punishment (and didn't he always?).

Douglas pressed his hands against Martin's thighs, tightening his grip. They were in Douglas' bedroom, Martin's legs splayed, hands on the edge of the bed, and back flush against his First Officer. Martin was flushed and panting, mouth agape and eyes shut with pleasure. Beautiful.

With a final lick to his lips, Douglas leaned over his lover and gave him a nice long lick over the back of his neck, pleased as goosebumps rose under his tongue. Martin froze, caught mid-moan, and then bucked his hips wildly behind him, a shout erupting from deep within his throat.

Well, that was new. Martin gripped the sheets and bucked, cursing violently at Douglas. "I told you not to. Y-you'll leave marks," he complained, but Douglas wasn't hearing of it. Oh, not now.

He gave Martin's neck another rough lick, latching his lips to the skin to_ suck_ it ever so gently. Martin bucked and_ writhed _desperately against Douglas, pushing the man deeper into him. Douglas snapped his hips to meet the now-wild thrusts of his lover who, apparently, was quite sensitive to his neck.

Douglas shuddered. Martin was always tight and incredibly warm, but with his wiggling hips and shaking body, every muscle seemed to make it their job to squeeze and massage Douglas' cock. He wasn't going to last very long like this.

With determination he set a fine pace, pleased to watch his cock slide in and out of Martin's body with punitive cries from his lover (though it did little to slow the coming of his orgasm), and bit the junction where Martin's neck met his shoulder, tongue rolling over the skin sensuously. When Martin began to push and wiggle even harder, he gently blew over the skin.

Martin_ howled _, shouting his name, cries growing more punitive with each forceful thrust. He was no longer in protest, could not even try to, for Douglas mercilessly nibbled and sucked on his neck, and the man underneath him could do nothing else than literally shake like a leaf and take it.

No, he really wasn't going to last long at all. Martin's face was pinched and flushed a brilliant crimson with pleasure, sweat rolling off of him, hair sticking to his forehead. It was a gorgeous sight. So, with an evil deed in mind, the First Officer moved his lips up Martin's neck and kissed his pulse point ("Douglas, please." A weak, throaty groan) before he lowered his head and_ bit_ into his neck.

"Dou—" Martin choked on air as his powerful orgasm ripped through him, eyes rolling in pleasure, movements erratic, pulse after pulse pulling every last ounce of energy from Martin. Douglas' member was squeezed and he stilled Martin's hips, thrusting in a final deep time as he came seconds after his exhausted lover. Oh, yes. That hot, stomach rolling pleasure never got old. Even better when he could watch Martin come undone below him.

When they both lay exhausted, Douglas had to slam his hands into the bedside lest he fall over Martin. He carefully removed himself, tingles of pleasure running up his spine when he saw his own semen slip down Martin's thigh. Softly he stroked Martin's upturned cheek.

"Are you alright? You should have told me about your neck. Why's that so bad? You seemed to enjoy it." He smirked as Martin flushed, panting. His head rested on the bed, not daring to move (he'd probably fall over).

"Now you'll use it against me whenever you want. I'm doomed," he groaned, but didn't sound too terribly depressed over the affair. Douglas wrapped his arms under Martin and set him onto the bed, maneuvering the two until they spooned comfortably. Douglas threw his arms loosely over Martin's waist.

"You're right, I would. But if it will make you happier, I can try to keep it private." Martin moaned weakly when he felt Douglas' lips press into his neck and his free hand gently trailed over the sensitive skin, fingers coming to tangle in the mess of red hair.

"My hero," the pilot captain muttered, pressing into Douglas' soft touch.


	4. A Softer Touch

**Rated**: M

**OP**: Martin is just far too sensitive for a proper blow job, he barely lasts twenty seconds, but licking... licking is enough to drive him wild for ages. Maybe someone suggests this alternative and Martin discovers he can actually last like this (hmm... who do we know that comes up with really clever ideas?).

* * *

The first time Douglas serviced Martin to a blowjob, it was brilliant. It was intense. It made his whole body tremble with the aftershocks.

It also lasted barely twenty seconds. He'd flushed an incredible red and Douglas had to hold in his laugh. He then promised Martin he would get used to it, kissing his brow and whispering hot things into his ears.

A week later, the result had yet to change. Even more ashamed, Martin had offered one to Douglas, but when he actually looked at his cock - well, that wasn't going to fit in there. Or anywhere. He shied away and Douglas suggested doing it more often.

They tried day by day, and although Martin was gratified with his release daily, and appearing more refreshed than he had in months, he still barely lasted half of a minute.

They were in bed on a Thursday when Douglas suggested it.

"Maybe my mouth is just too heavenly for you."

"Your - too heavenly? What are you going on about?" he punched Douglas' shoulder lightly. They were in bed and Martin was spread and waiting , thighs locking and relaxing at intervals.

Douglas appeared wounded. "Surely you've realized. My mouth, warm and heavenly - " he paused to demonstrate, pressing his lips to Martin's " - must cause too much stimulation. I was thinking, since we're both here and all, we might try something else."

"What sort of something else?" Martin brought his knees inward, anxious that Douglas might suggest actually trying to fuck him with - with that monster. The thought had him paling.

"No, no, never fear Martin. It would be unconventional to try that now. I was thinking that we might just use my tongue."

"Your...tongue? Isn't that the same thing?" Douglas smirked.

"No, no. It's nothing like the heat that engulfs you and seems to bring you to the brink far too quickly. We'll just slowly bring you up to it." Douglas leaned down and spread Martin's legs before he could protest, swiping his tongue across the head of his cock.

The reaction was instant. Martin's eyes widened and he pushed his hips towards Douglas's mouth, a sharp gasp accentuating his pleasure. Douglas placed both hands on either side of his hips to still them and gave him another swipe to the underside, letting his tongue linger for a second longer.

Martin's face reddened and he squirmed under the sharp points of pleasure, penis hardening to its full size. His body was buzzing with energy now, and the quick touch of a soft, warm tongue was almost as bad as Douglas' moist mouth. His cock twitched and throbbed, beginning to leak excessively under his First Officer's direct gaze.

Douglas licked his lips and leaned to swirled his tongue around the head, pleased when Martin cried out loudly and bucked his hips, head thrown with in ecstasy. "God. Jesus, Douglas, don't stop, whatever you do - _ohh_," he moaned as Douglas licked it here and there, the pilot under him thrashing wildly. The sensation was indescribable, but it felt so, so good.

The pattern continued. Douglas would lick different parts of his penis, at times taking moments just to lap at the dribbles of precome. Martin for his part writhed and cried out hoarse encouragements, having absolutely no control over his own body. His hands clamped into the hair atop Douglas' head, tightening and loosening periodically.

The pleasure was always white-hot and intense, and he always believed 'this is the one, oh God I'll come,' but he never did. It was random and unbearable, but he was lasting. He didn't know how long, but he was driven wild and he _wasn't_ finishing off too soon. Elation surged through him, adding to the already-too-stimulating swipes at his body.

Douglas lifted a thigh and licked its inner edges, tongue dancing over the skin. Martin shuddered and clenched, a toe-curling guttural groan tearing from his throat.

"Douglas," he panted, the name fading near the end. How long had they been at this? He felt utterly exhausted, yet completely alive and singing with energy. Douglas murmured something into his thigh and bit it gently. Martin convulsed, almost kicking his First Officer, erection twitching and shooting soft pre-ejaculate spurts over himself.

"Oh, God. Oh, Douglas,_ please_," he nearly shrieked when he lapped under the crown of his penis. The intensity of his orgasms were always fun and enjoyable, but this long-lasting torture was both divine and painful. Martin was caught between begging for him to continue and screaming for him to stop.

Extremely aroused and pleasantly surprised by his lover, Douglas fisted his own erection as he licked and sucked on Martin's, the salty tang more delicious with each passing cry.

Martin was nearly sobbing when Douglas mercifully took the head into his mouth, throat convulsing as he sucked the leaking liquid. "Douglas, I'm not - I won't last," he recalled with embarrassment, cheeks flaming and eyes alight with anxiety. Douglas chuckled, kissing the tip a few times for good measure. Martin twitched violently.

"In a high ll honesty, it doesn't matter how long you last, but that I am the one who can bring you such intense pleasure. With that said, show me what you've got, Captain." Douglas took him deep, felt Martin thrust and screamed his name, feet planted and quaking. He arched as as he could, thighs quivering under Douglas' hand and he came.

His voice faded into the high electric air as spurt after spurt was lapped by Douglas' skilled tongue, ne'er a drop escaping.

Martin collapsed and laid his head on the bed, chest heaving with each laboured breath. "Douglas, I - that was - amazing," he finished, flushing (if it was possible to turn any more red). Douglas merely bowed his head with mock modesty, free hand wrapped around his erection.

"Since I've serviced you so nicely dear, how about we put that talented tongue of yours to use?" Martin licked his lips unconsciously and smiled.


	5. Chest

**Rated**: T

**OP**: I would like fic involving one or more of the other characters curling up with their head on Douglas Richardson's broad, furry chest. Any, or hell every character, for any reason including gen cuddling, emotional breakdowns, post-coital lounging, 'oh my god wake up from the coma Douglas' and the ever ubiquitous hypothermia. Just a story featuring the other characters seeking the hirsute warmth of Douglas Richardson's comfy and comforting chest.

* * *

Douglas hadn't been expecting to react...quite that erratically.

He'd merely meant to scare the poor man. He had no idea that he had an undying fear of...well frightening things.

Halloween around the airfield, and Martin was showing obvious signs of aggravation. He snapped at anyone who made him jump, stormed about the cabin, and shook when they passed dark corners. When Douglas asked why, he'd admitted his student-friends had played tricks on him every year, and he expected this to be no different. He was on edge.

Douglas then had a nasty idea. If he had to say so himself, it was elaborately designed. They'd placed a mannequin on a hook, painted the skin a sickly green, spread blood (ketchup) onto his face and hands, and put a few details here and there, making the scariest monster they could on short notice.

Of course Carolyn and Authur had been in on this little bit of fun.

"Wow! That's really scary. Brilliant." Arthur looked pleased, so nothing could go wrong.

Well, until it did.

Just as they'd planned, Arthur swung the mannequin around when Martin walked past the flight deck, and he froze. Douglas waited gleefully until Martin utterly collapsed onto the floor, a choked sob echoing within the confines of the space. He then promptly chose to faint on the floor.

Later that night, once Martin had woken up and cursed Douglas to his grave (nearly crying, dear God), Douglas apologized then, and _thoroughly_at home. With his tongue, mouth and hands. He pleasured Martin, slowly, without haste, until Martin was a puddle of sobs and shouts of pleasure rather than fright.

They now lay together, naked and sated, though Douglas still felt somewhat guilty.

"I'm sorry, Martin."

Martin wrapped his arms around his partner's neck, delicately pecking at the skin above his collarbone. "Stop apologizing, it's too weird of you." Douglas looked less than pleased. "No, really. I just get...frightened easily. I normally wouldn't be so prone but this time of year has me on a very thin edge."

Slowly his hand was sliding up and down, fingers digging into the juncture above his collarbone. He liked to feel Douglas' odds and ends, less and bony and more plush than his own thin skin. It was a delight, really. Not to mention the chest hair. It curled around his fingers, the light dusting of hair just enough to irritate his skin - he was nearly ticklish on his fingers by it.

It was a comfort to Martin. Not just his hirsute chest, but his body in general. He was larger and wider than Martin, so the small man could easily curl up into his body, forehead resting over his heart. He did that now, legs 'twining with Douglas', arms folding in so Douglas could wrap his arms around his waist and hold him there (he had long discovered his love for cuddling).

"I love you," he murmured into his chest, nuzzling the hairs blissfully. One of his hands slowly stroked random patterns, fingers curving to pull and weave through the curls. He was pulled closer and hands were around his buttocks, pulling him up for a deep kiss.

"You're in an awfully good mood for someone who's been scared out of their wits," the man remarked, a murmur against Martin's swollen lips.

"It's not every day you apologize and mean it." Douglas chuckled and Martin felt it through his breast. He moved himself back down and rested his head against the dark hairs, counting the ones that were turning grey.

"Why are you so enamored with my chest?" In response Martin rubbed at the spot beside his head, kissing the skin. "Not that I particularly mind."

"It's...um, good. And warm. And you have more hairs than I do. And, God - I'm awful at this," he blushed, dipping his head to hide. Douglas chuckled and raked his fingers through Martin's hair in understanding; it was one of his many weaknesses. Martin went boneless to his touch, shuddering gently when Douglas' fingers curled around his ear.

Maybe he should scare Martin more often.


	6. Morning Sex

**Rated**: M

**OP**: Martin and Douglas have sleepy morning sex

* * *

Martin's eyes fluttered open when he felt something prodding at his back.

It took quite a few blinks and minute shifts of his arms and legs until he was almost half-aware of where he was and another minute until he could recall his own name. He was groggily aware of a warm hand stroking his thigh, mixing with the complete bliss and comfort he had the pleasure to experience.

He sighed into the pillow softly, barely aware when his legs were spread and something very large and_ very_ hard pressed against his bottom. For only a moment Martin tensed, but then he remembered: Douglas. Sleeping together every night since - since some day of the week. It had been far too long since he had slept with another person, and he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around it (especially in the mornings).

Well.

Douglas pulled his cheeks apart and slowly, carefully inserted his thick, engorged length, sliding inside Martin like hot iron, filling him. Oh, God he was so full. Completely lax and barely awake Martin moaned, pushing his hips backwards fruitlessly. Douglas' hand kept him still as he carefully pushed in, breath ghosting his ear.

Martin's own flaccid cock stirred, and he shuddered with each slow, torturous movement that drove Douglas deeper inside him. He felt like wide and open, but -_ohh_ - that couldn't be possible. Not with Douglas filling him, stretching him so fully that he _ached_ with feeling.

"_Douglas_," he rasped, shuddering as he touched the nerve deep inside him. Just barely - he settled his cock right against it, and Martin was reduced to fitful shudders, his body too lethargic to writhe and twist. It was more like a constant twitch of his limbs.

Douglas breathed hotly into his ear, nibbling the shell. "Morning," he drawled, voice deep. God, so deep and so low. It sent shivers down Martin's spine.

"Mor - " he sucked in his breath as Douglas rocked slowly out, the ache of loss so exquisite (Christ he felt so _open_) " - ning," and then back in. The slow, gentle rock was the complete opposite of the wild and rough love making that they he had partaken in the previous night, but God if it didn't feel any less intense.

Douglas would push into him deeply, rubbing his prostate, and Martin would punitively cry out, body surging forward as uncontrollable waves of pleasure rolled over him. He could scarcely breath. He could scarcely _feel_. Everything was intense and hot and _warm_, like Douglas' hand steadying his hip.

Martin's thoughts scattered and he was only aware of the sensual roll of their coupling, seeming dstined to last forever until Martin finally shuddered, his orgasm almost soft, but leaving him with intense quivers. His orgasm seemed to last forever, his cries becoming louder, more animated with each of Douglas' thrusts.

When it finally settled and he could breathe, the captain reached behind and rested his hand just above his own bottom where Douglas entered him, felt the skin stretch and purred when he felt Douglas shudder and deposit his seed deep inside Martin. He felt so warm, so full, so satisfied,_ God_.

"Yes," he cried hoarsely. _Douglas, Douglas, I love you,_ he wanted to say, but his mouth refused to open. He lay spent and boneless, only twitching when Douglas kissed the sensitive spot just behind his ear.

"Oh, Captain, my Captain, where hath the morning gone?" Martin reached behind him and slapped at the air blindly. What a lovely way to wake up.

* * *

I really suck at endings.


	7. Married Men

**Rated**: T

**OP**: Martin and Douglas, as noticed by Carolyn, seem to be developing feelings for each other though they don't know it, and even if they did she doesn't think they'd admit to such a thing.  
Things get pretty heated (can be due to a bad/disastrous flight or just an argument gone a little too far), but the next flight is very tense until they land and they start bickering.  
Carolyn, sick of all the UST and arguments locks them in the flight deck for a couple of hours. (only to come back and silently unlock the door later)  
What will happen? What will they say? How will they resolve it? That's up to you!

**Warning**: Cue the angst

* * *

They've been dancing around each other for so long. Too long, in Carolyn's humble opinion.

Ever since the beginning she's noticed; who wouldn't? Martin's pitiful, doe-eyed gaze locked onto Douglas as soon as he entered the room. Strong, handsome, and gruff, Douglas appealed to Martin as his better; a man he could look up to.

As soon as Douglas had spoken though, arrogance and self-value high on the meters, Martin's face had crumpled with disgust. He couldn't quite keep the curious glimmer from his eye, though.

As time wore on, the two of them - as expected - became closer. Would one expect anything different from two men, both of whom had to share the flight deck for hours on end? From her standing point she could only see the heated, angry moments between the two that stemmed immediate from the challenge of powers. Douglas was the better pilot; Martin _was_ the pilot, and wouldn't give it up for the world.

They constantly clashed swords, dirty looking gaining head if words failed them. Douglas was often harsh and direct, jabbing at Martin's weakest spots, while Martin sputtered along, bravely never giving ground (although his dignity was another matter).

Over time, when the bickering became far too consequential to the state of their sanity and just plain_ exhausting_, they toned it down.

Now the two of them simply harp and snap at each other, inserting the appropriate comment when the time calls for it, all the while dancing over the prospect of each other.

It really isn't hard to see.

Martin has always looked at Douglas with a sort of reverence that one reserves for the Eiffel Tower or a particularly beautiful sunset. Whenever Douglas isn't looking - or appears to be - he gazes at him with a mixture of pleasure and pain. Pleasure, Carolyn thinks, because he does seem to light up like the sun when he's having a rare good time with Douglas, and pain because Douglas is a right dick about everything.

Douglas is a much harder case to describe. Martin is open and obvious, barely able to make it through a tense conversation without stumbling at least once - unless he's with Douglas (well, even then) - but Douglas is somewhat of an enigma. He is cunning like the devil. An exceptional liar and absolutely brilliant at reading people. He toys with their emotions and notions until they're completely twisted around (exhibit A: Martin).

He knows how to drop that devilish voice of his into the perfect purr, luring his suspects in until he can rip them to shreds.

Well, maybe Carolyn is a bit harsh about that one.

Anywho, once you see past that, one notices that although he seems with personality, he hides certain things deep within himself. Carolyn was - and is - lucky to have seen anything of the man behind his arrogant, pompous mask.

It's really quite simple, yet elaborate. Douglas knows what he feels and what he's doing, so he can mask it even better. When Martin has a particularly bad day, he exaggerates a loss, makes him feel just a tad bit like a winner (after he makes him lose before then, of course). He so subtly smirks in contentment whenever Martin gleefully proclaims his win, or shows gratitude for Douglas.

But there are things he can't help but bring out when it concerns the naive, cute little Captain.

Women, for instance. Douglas appears to love them (even had a wife) and encourages their approaches, but only for himself. He likes to know - or show - he still "has it." What he doesn't like is watching Martin flirt and giggle with a woman, one who isn't blown away by his stumbling tendencies. When his own personality doesn't get in the way, Douglas does.

He charms them. He brings them in. Carolyn has seem too many a time when Douglas takes Her hand and Martin can only watch in anguish as she is smitten. Because everyone sees Douglas as a self-absorbed "player," he believes he is subtle. Carolyn knows better.

She's always known better. None of them will admit it though.

She's tired of seeing Martin gaze at Douglas plaintively when he doesn't think anyone notices, and she's tired of watching Douglas berate Martin when he feels as if he's showing too much affection for the man.

She has always been tired, but this has got to be the last straw.

Martin is pacing now. He's pacing across the flight deck, unshed tears of anger stinging his eyes.

"Douglas! I - how_ dare_ you? I _specifically_ told you to leave us alone!" He was miffed, an angry rash of shame covering his cheeks.

"It's hardly my fault she didn't know you were a captain." Douglas held his hands up in innocent, the insufferable smirk for one no where near.

"You - you_ knew_. You were the one who recommended her to me, laughing that 'I didn't have a chance' anyway!" Martin is shouting, lip quivering, but he doesn't care. He just doesn't care. Douglas looks put off.

"I thought she knew. I told you to use the captain card before! I thought it was the only way she'd date you, and that you had."

"I didn't, luckily, because she told me she hated pilots. We had a good heart-to-heart chat until you came around," Martin literally spits, wiping his lips.

"What is going on here?" Carolyn crosses her arms and glares at them, both of whom glower at her for interrupting.

"Nothing! Nothing at all, just_ Douglas_."

"What's that supposed to mean,_ Sir_? I am not following Sir's orders correctly?"

"That's rich, coming from you! You never do anything I say. Ever!" They're shouting now, filling the whole cabin with insufferable noise. Carolyn stamps with one foot, rubbing her forehead with a free hand.

"Is there ever a need? I seem to be recalling many occasions where it was _my_ guidance that helped us—"

"Enough!" Carolyn snaps, glaring at the two of them harshly. "I am tired of the two of you bickering like an old married couple. Douglas, I can see it - " he scowls " - but Martin, you should know better. Don't let him get to you." She softens her voice, and Martin seizes himself up, hating how she talks to him like he's too young to understand.

"I can bicker perfectly well like any old married couple! The fact is that Douglas purposefully ruins everything!"

"That's — "

"Enough I said! Now, you two are going to stay in here until you sort yourselves out." Martin pales.

"But - but -"

"You have the commodities right here, don't you?"

Douglas snorts and crosses his arms, standing up from where he sits in his seat as First Officer. "You can't seriously believe you will be able to keep us here against our will." Carolyn merely smiles and quickly steps back out of the cabin, shutting the door behind her. The lock clicks.

Martin pales, then flushes an angry red. "Carolyn! What are you doing? Let us out!"

"Not until the two of you settle your differences. Have fun!" She calls, the click of her steps echoing ominously the hours to come. Douglas seats himself with dignity at his seat. Martin, however, crumples by the doorway.

"God, we'll never get out of here," he bemoans.

Douglas' lips twitch with retaliation just dying to be said. He considers his words, actually minding what Carolyn said. She's right. He should reconcile with the captain. Yet every time he looks at Martin, feels his heart clench and curl slowly, he can't help but feel angry. Why him? Why is this bumbling, stupid captain become so dear, so precious to him that he can't even help himself from ruining any chances he might have with a woman who would deserve him so much more than Douglas does?

He takes a cleansing breath. "We'll get out. You just need to be reasonable." Oh, come on, he can't help it. Martin spares him a glare and rests his head on his knees, sighing.

"Why couldn't you just let me have one date? One date Douglas," he says softly, void of emotion. Douglas considers his response, staring out the window after a moment.

"I didn't - I wasn't thinking quite clearly." He doesn't quite know why he answers with the truth. He _wasn't_ thinking straight, not with the possibility of Martin leaving him at hand. He had to do...something!

"Weren't..._thinking_? Douglas, you've ruined more of my life than anyone of I've known." He's beginning to sound choked and desperate, but Martin's far beyond caring. "When - when have y-you ever stopped thinking? You're always prattling on about this and that, that you're so much better than me and how I don't have _any_ luck," he's nearly sobbing, emotions spilling over. _Why do I love you why, why, why can't I love someone else who will love me back you make this so hard_. "and it's just bloody awful that I can't stop myself."

Douglas feels like it's an echo and he turns to Martin, gaze curious and regretful. He just...they've always had fun, but Martin's never seemed this despondent about it. "What do you mean 'can't stop yourself'?"

Martin pales, flushes, and then pushes his head further into his arms, curls bouncing. "Nothing," he mumbles. Douglas stands up; watches him tense.

"It's not nothing. Come on, Martin. If we want to solve this, then we've got to be honest with each other." He tries to sound sincere. Martin's head shoots up, tears making his eyes glitter.

"Solve? It's - it's impossible. I - I ...I couldn't if I wanted to." Martin seems to curl into himself, a sigh shuddering its way through him. Douglas walks until his feet touch Martin's, and he kneels.

"Couldn't stop it? What is 'it'?" Martin gazes at him, lip quivering, and then he explodes.

"This! There, right there. You - you - you're always like that! One second making fun of me, the next being really, _really_ kind. And it hurts, Douglas." Martin squeezes his eyes shut, facing the wall. "It hurts when you're so nice because I know - I can't...get my hopes up," he mutters, practically inaudible. Douglas turns Martin around, forces the smaller man to look at him.

He's met with tears that slowly drip down angry red cheeks and a full lip trembling under his gaze. "I'm sorry Douglas, I really am. I'm - I'm s-sorry that you have to see this. I'm so - for feeling this way. It's wrong - it's stupid —"

"No." Douglas has had enough. He can literally feel his heart ripping. "Martin, I think I understand. It's not stupid - it's never been stupid. You are by far the most intelligent - well emotionally connected - person I know." Douglas' hand raises of its own accord and his knuckles brush Martin's left cheek, more tears beginning to flow at his soft touch. Before Martin can sputter another I'm sorry, Douglas tilts his chin up and slightly to the left, capturing him into a soft, but firm kiss.

Martin is frozen, tears all but drying up. He rapidly blinks the last remnants away, not trusting himself to even breath. The pressure against his lips can_not_be Douglas Richardson. It must be a sick illustration of his own fantasy. He closes his eyes and wills it to either dissipate or stay forever, trembling under the hand holding his chin. He may fall over if Douglas - or dream-Douglas - lets go.

He doesn't.

Douglas pulls him in, lets their lips slide chastely, not wanting to scare the trembling man. One warm, large hand rests on Martin's waist, the anchor he needs, and he _melts_ into Douglas. When they part, Martin's eyes flutter open. "Douglas, what is the meaning of this?" he slurs just a bit, eyes drooping. He's suddenly so exhausted and thrumming with energy content all at once, an oxymoron himself, and he leans into Douglas, not trusting his limp body to work.

Neither of them hear the lock click.

"Martin, this is what I should have done long ago, when I first saw our relationship diving down an endless path. I was the... less intelligent one." Martin, boneless against the larger male peers up at him, looking both hopeful and apprehensive.

"What do you mean?" Douglas kisses his forehead, the ache inside him growing and growing. Martin is so broken, looks so pitiful. He never expected him to feel this way - hadn't even seen himself fitting this picture. But he's here now, and that means he must face these feelings instead of burying them, for Martin. Because Martin holding onto to this with everything else in his life does not bode well.

"Douglas?" he sounds small, afraid, but there is a stirring in his voice. Thin hands climb up his chest and rest on his shoulders, the touch hesitant. Is he allowed? Can he touch him?

Douglas wraps his arm around Martin and pulls him into a tight hug, lips resting against the edge of his ear. He's made his decision. "Captain Martin Crieff, as of today I am never going to let you go." His tone is nearly dark and Martin shudders; his lips part, but no words come out. A tear hangs onto the edge of his lash and he bats it away. He doesn't need to say anything.

-

Douglas carries Martin from the cockpit, not saying a word as they descent from the airfield. Martin is disturbingly light. Douglas can feel the muscle clench under his fingers from the Man with a Van gig he has, but otherwise it seems just skin and bones. That can't be a good thing. He swears to himself that he will fatten Martin up until he can feel the pudge under his fingers and not just pull skin.

When they reach Douglas' car, Martin looks panicked when he's set down. Then he forcefully relaxes, trying not to seem dependent and weak. His gaze keep sweeping towards Douglas, as if he might escape if he leaves his sight.

The ride to his home is silent. It's tense, but not for the reasons one thinks. Martin is still uncertain, unsure that this dream is a reality and his mind is still spinning. Douglas is trying to think of ways to keep Martin from utterly flipping out when he realizes Douglas is a terrible man and he deserves better. But Martin simply stares at him every so often, eyes alight with achingly open affection and hope, cheeks tinged with color. Douglas' grip on the wheel tightens.

When they make it to Douglas' home, everything is quiet. Martin can't quite seem to get his limbs working and he happily allows Douglas to lift him into his arms, grunting only slighty with the initial lift. He holds onto his neck tightly and barely breaths until Douglas has his keys out and the soft click of the door sounds. He can never go back. Now would be the right time for Martin to jump out of his arms and run if he wants to. Can he face this? No, no he can't this is so sudden and it's just a dream to be ripped from him just when he's finally _happy_ —

Douglas takes him inside.

He's set atop the counter as Douglas ruffles around for something - to eat, he's assuming - and he finally takes out what appears to be leftovers. Spaghetti. Oh, God, Martin can't remember the last time he had spaghetti. He can feel his stomach clench with hunger. He doesn't want to need Douglas, doesn't want to appear weak, but as the food heats, his stomach rumbles loudly. "You'll be eating some, of course. Won't have my guest going hungry while I satiate my desires, now shall I?" Martin smiles weakly.

"You're always a terrible host, I bet. Luring them in with food until they realize what you really want." Martin smirks, and Douglas feels relief pour over the tension.

"What do I really want?" Douglas reaches for the now-cooked food, steaming from the micro and pulls out two plates. Martin can't stop himself from eyeing the food. Douglas pretends not to notice.

"Here you are," he says softly, pushing the plate towards him. Martin gratefully takes it, so hungry that he completely forgets to get off the table and accepts the fork, eating it right there. With each bite he moans, both embarrassed and too hungry to care. Douglas finds watching Martin be pleased by anything is always elating. It's even better to know it's somewhat by Douglas' hands. When Martin finishes, he passes his plate over, claiming he's "not really that hungry." It _is_ the middle of the day (silently he's thanking Carolyn that today is their day off). Martin, after silent moments of inner turmoil, accepts and inhales that plate, too.

By the end he looks content, but slightly green. Eating so much after living off of so little must not be good for the body. Martin's hand flutters to his stomach unconsciously and he looks caught between happiness and repulsion. Douglas motions for him to come closer, scooping the man into his arms. He finds he enjoys the comforting weight and presence of Martin as he carries him into his bedroom. Contrary to popular belief, he's not going to fuck him into the mattress on a full belly of food. He hardly believes Martin would be amiable about it.

He just sets the man on his bed, reassuring him with a kiss to his brow. "I'll go fetch an antacid." Martin looks sated and drowsy, but his eyes snap open. Leave? _Leave_? What? Douglas is pained to see this raw display of vulnerability and makes the trip quickly, bringing a glass of water along with him. He hands the glass to Martin who accepts with a soft "thanks," popping the pill and some water. Douglas takes the glass and sets it in the nightstand. The next few moments are a bit awkward and more silent than usual.

The younger male flushes and looks at his fingernails, one hand still pressed against his stomach. Ohh, he feels so full. He hasn't felt full in such a long time that the ache in his stomach is worth it. It's a good ache instead of a gut-wrenching, hungry pain that threatens to engulf its victim. Martin silently burps and begins to curl up. So maybe it hurts a little more than he thought. He really, really hopes he won't be sick, willing the pill to work quickly.

Douglas finds the excuse he needs and resolutely climbs onto the bed, maneuvering the two of them until he is spooning Martin. Heart beating far too swiftly for his age, he reaches around and presses his hand to Martin's stomach, gently rubbing circles. "Are you alright then?" Martin nods, brows furrowing. He bites his lip. It's odd at first, to say the least. He isn't really expecting Douglas to rub his stomach, let alone sit behind him and spoon, but he relaxes slowly, almost reluctantly.

This must be a dream. It's all still a dream. Martin closes his eyes and leans back against Douglas, feels his warmth slip into his own body. Soon he'll wake up, and it will be all over. This good dream will dissipate and he will regret not pinching himself, not waking up. Martin wants to move, to touch the body behind him just in case it is real and he is here, but he can't seem to manage the move. It's much easier to lay back against Douglas and pretend - pretend forever that he'll still be there in the morning, that the stirring in his lower belly will be real and the soft grip on his thigh won't disappear once he's woken up.

Martin curls his toes and drifts off, more happy than he's been in years.

When Martin wakes up, he finds it isn't a dream.


End file.
